Old age is golden, so I’ve heard said
But sometimes I wonder, as I get into bed.
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup
And my eyes on the table until I wake up.
Ere sleep dims my eyes I say to myself
“Is there anything else I should put on the shelf?”
And I’m happy to say as I close my eyes
“My friends are the same, perhaps even more.”
When I was young my slippers were red,
I could kick up my heels as high as my head.
Then when I was older, my slippers were blue,
But still I could walk the whole day through.
Now I am old, my slippers are black.
I walk to the store and puff my way back.
The reason I know my youth is all spent,
My get up and go has got up and went.
But really, I don’t mind when I think with a grin,
Of all the grand places my get up has been.
Since I have retired from life’s competition
I busy myself with complete repetition.
I get up each morning and dust off my wits,
Pick up the paper and read the ‘obits’
If my name is missing I know I’m not dead
So I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed.